He nearly jumped out of the ill fitting jeans when he saw a man sitting opposite him in the booth. Crace took a deep breath to calm his beating heart and placed both his hands palm down on the table in front of him, just like he had been told to do in the email.

The man tilted his head slightly and looked down at the Mickey Mouse baseball cap on the table and then back at Crace,

"I felt like an asshole wearing it, I had to take it off."

The man reached under the table and then produced an iPad from somewhere Crace couldn't see, he wondered if the iPad had been taped to the bottom of the table as he noticed some marks on the back of the case as the man held it towards himself so that Crace couldn't see the screen.

Crace took the few moments to study the man sitting opposite him; he guessed the guy was about forty something, white, slim, maybe worked outside judging by the way his skin was weathered. The guy was wearing an old black leather suit jacket that looked maybe a size too big for him, it looked kind of cool on the guy and Crace liked it. He wondered if it was really old, or maybe one of those jackets that cost thousands to make them look like they cost fifty bucks. He decided to ask the guy after they'd finished their meeting.

The guy finished what he was doing with the iPad and then placed it down on the table between them. On the screen Crace could see about ten white squares on a black background. The man touched one of the squares and it zoomed in to show that there was writing on it, Crace leant forward and read the caption,

"Put the cap on."

Crace looked up from the screen at the man,

"What? Are you speaking to me through the iPad?"

The man tapped the screen again,

"Yes."

"Why? That's crazy, nobody can hear us."

Another tap

"The restaurant may be bugged, you may be wired or we might be being filmed."

Crace looked around the restaurant nervously and then back at the man,

"I followed all of your instructions, to the letter. Nobody knows we are here I promise."

"Put the cap on."

Crace picked up the cap and pulled it on; this time he didn't care he looked a dick. He didn't care because he was too scared to care.

Another swipe,

"Hands."

Crace placed his hands back down on the table in front of him palms down and stared at the man while he played basket ball with his Adams apple. The man stared back and Crace was about to speak again when the waitress suddenly leant in and poured some coffee, Crace nearly screamed.

"Fresh coffee, you order now?"

"No, not yet, in a minute I promise."

"Hey, that iPad, they nice things, my boy want one for Christmas, too expensive for waitress though, not make enough tip."

The man opposite smiled at her and placed his hand over the top of the cup she had put down for him and shook his head slightly. She smiled back, glad that this new guy wasn't as much of an asshole as the one who had been here for an hour and turned away saying,

"I be back soon take order."

Crace looked at his coffee but didn't pick it up, the email he'd received setting up the meeting had expressly told him to keep his hands palms down on the table at all times, it was the same one that had told him the locker number where he had found the bag with the dumb clothes he was wearing, the clothes and the hat. That fucking hat.

"I feel dumb in this hat, I look like a redneck." The man tilted his head again and Crace suddenly realised he might just have insulted him, he fought to take control of that bouncing Adams apple and made an attempt at swallowing it and an apology, "I'm sorry, not that there is anything wrong with being a redneck, it's just it isn't my style, you know?"

The man tapped the screen,

"I needed you to stand out in the crowd."

"You followed me?"

"Yes."

"All the way over?"

"Yes."

"You know where I live?"

"Yes."

"Jesus."

They stared at each other across the table for a moment, and Crace puffed out his cheeks and nodded to his coffee,

"Can I take a drink?"

The man nodded and Crace picked up the mug, careful to keep his other hand down on the table top. The coffee warmed his throat and cooled his nerves so that when he put the mug back down he felt a little bit more in control.

"Have you got the answer to every question I am going to ask programmed into that thing?"

"No."

"Well we've got a problem if I ask one it can't answer haven't we?"

"No."

Crace smiled in spite of himself and took another sip of coffee, he glanced around the diner and noticed there was now only about six or other customers in there, most of them with heads buried in meals or conversations. The man had chosen the venue well.

"Okay, let's get down to business here; I gotta get back across town. This is what I want you to do..."

The man held up the palm of his right hand and with his left index finger tapped at a square on the screen, Crace leant forward to read it.

"You have asked me to kill your wife; I will do this for fifteen thousand dollars. Half at the end of this meeting and half after I have completed the task. The figure is non-negotiable as I explained in our previous correspondence. The manner of the task will be to my choosing. The collection of the outstanding monies will be to my choosing. If you do not pay the outstanding amount I will kill your parents in New Hampshire. If you speak to anyone of this matter I will kill your sister in Georgia. Once I have killed these people I will find you and kill you. If you behave in the manner I have told you and follow all of my instructions, at the completion of the matter you will never see me again. Is this understood?"

Crace sat back and let his mouth hang open for a moment while his brain figured out how to close it, a moment passed until he found some words.

"How did you know about my folks and my sister?"

The man tapped the screen again summoning another caption,

"Answer yes or no."

"There won't be a problem with the money or the job I promise."

"Answer yes or no."

"Yes."

Crace leant back from the table and stared at the man who coolly stared right back at him. Prior to the meeting Crace had wondered if this guy was just some sort of nut job fantasist who was pretending to be a hit man, but right now, looking across the table at this guy, he felt like he was staring at death.

Death stared back, smiled and nodded, as if reading Crace's mind. The man tapped another white box and Crace leant forward to read it,

"If you wish to leave now you may do. We will never see each other or speak again and you will be safe to carry on with your life as if this meeting had never taken place. You have ten seconds to get up and leave the table."

"I don't want to leave, I need... no, I want to do this I swear." Crace whispered urgently, leaning in close, head inches from the table, the light of the iPad illuminating his face from below. The man didn't reply, and it took Crace a moment to realise death was tapping his index finger on the table.

He watched it.